


the magician and the fool

by glassalgae



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Kinda porn, Longing, M/M, asra stop.png, asra tries too hard, commitment issues, juilian being a top sorry, julian is an idiot, mention of nadiasra, pining probably, pre-sex cuddles, sad julian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-06-19 16:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15513399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassalgae/pseuds/glassalgae
Summary: drabbles too short to standalonejust shipsi cannot guarantee that my writing style will even remain consistent in this(rating may change)





	1. recollection of  a need

**Author's Note:**

> give me some slack my knowledge for these two is very limited right now

asra asks him  _ what do you want _ and julian doesn’t know. he doesn’t.

 

maybe he did at one point— maybe, maybe in the past he would have looked at asra with nothing but adoration and said  _ you _ and have no doubts but… but asra does not see him as a friend or a lover or a partner.

 

julian is almost nobody to asra. he knows that much. their only connection is lucio in asra’s mind. everything else is a coincidence— it doesn’t matter. sometimes he thinks nothing matters to asra. then he remembers that it’s just him.

 

the stars sparkle with a knowledge he doesn’t have and asra’s lashes are so long when he looks down them to julian. they glitter along with with the stars and oh doesn’t asra just look so pretty. awful, wonderful asra. 

 

julian wants asra to look at him like he looks at the stars in the sky. he knows every constellation, no doubt, knows what every star’s name is and if they have none named them himself. he looks with such wonder, and he thinks that asra perhaps wants to join them. he has a subdued curious nature. julian thinks that asra would burn with them, if he could, and wouldn’t care. he wants to know, wants to know. unlike julian, though, he knows when to stop. he’s gone through something. it’s obvious when you truly look at him, see the distant look in his eyes that he sometimes gets, see the way he looks when he cries.

 

asra is stowing away a lifetime of damage and julian doesn’t know from what. all he wants is to take it away— he’s so hopelessly in love he  wishes asra would never get that far-off look in his eye, would never stare at a wooden carriage like he’s recalling something unpleasant, never look at julian as his eyes dull in recollection of something awful. it seems nobody knows where asra has come from, where he’s been, what he’s been through.

 

julian wants to know. he wants to learn what makes asra  _ ache _ , what makes him cover up all of his emotions with a smile and a well-tuned lie. he’s so used to lying… it’s just natural to asra now, julian wants to be the one who he spills everything to. it’s not as if he wants to see asra cry, no, but he wants to know what troubles asra, wants to know everything, wants asra to look at him with an open expression and tell him everything, _ everything _ , wants to hear what hurts him and watch his shoulders deflate with relief.

 

julian wants, he  _ craves _ , craves asra’s attention and love and joy, craves his smile and his tears and everything in between, craves the mornings of waking up to the white-haired witch next to him and craves the afternoons of laughter and nights of dread because asra hasn’t gotten home safely yet, but he’d still be coming  _ home _ and that’s all he  _ wants _ , he wants asra, he craves asra, but he cannot say that aloud can he? no, because perhaps asra would call him a creep or worse, silently think bad of him, or he would spill finally about not caring for julian, or he would call julian an idiot. he’d probably call julian an idiot. 

 

asra asks julian what he wants and he kisses asra breathless.

 

asra kisses him back and winds a hand into his hair and julian asks the gods if this is what heaven is.


	2. frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> asra muses on how much julian uses his mouth

ilya makes him so,  _ unbearably _ frustrated.

ilya likes to talk and talk and talk, and doesn’t care who’s listening and who’s not. sometimes it makes asra’s chest fill with honeyed warmth, like julian’s voice is a rumbling fire on a cool night, and sometimes it makes him want to tear his damned hair out.

they’re fighting in the coliseum, and he’s trying so hard not to hurt muri, trying so hard not to trigger those memories more than he already has to, and ilya won’t  _ close his mouth. _

they’re at dinner and he’s trying to have a conversation with nadia, and she’s got a hand over his and every now and then she’ll look at him with a promise in her eye that makes his hair stand on end, but ilya keeps  _ blabbering _ .

he’s laying in bed with ilya idly on top of him, halfway to being wet between the legs and happy to finally be relaxed in bed, but—  _ ilya. _

he’s saying something asra can’t even keep track of; something about ten years ago, something with his sister, he doesn’t really want to hear about ilya’s sister in bed—

“ _ ilya _ ,” he says aloud this time, as if pained. he can’t wipe a stupid smile from his face, and yet he’s still  _ so _ frustrated. ilya stops and blinks at him, pale lips parted as if he was about to continue.

he doesn’t even realize how much he speaks. it’s some kind of nervous habit. and— despite himself— he reaches up, cups ilya’s chin between his thumb and index finger, and brings him down into a kiss.

when they break, ilya is grinning and his silver eyes are glinting with something full of himself. asra is so frustrated. he wants to take ilya apart with his mouth, but at the same time…

ilya starts talking again, about something different this time, and even when he rolls his eyes he has the biggest smile on his face, stretching for miles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> were u expecting porn? too bad.  
> idk what this is i was drunkenly writing at 11 pm


	3. Peaceful morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asra wakes up to his lover’s sleepy face, finally relaxed for once.

Asra wakes up to Ilya’s face.

He’s seen it before, while the doctor was asleep; he’s seen it with Ilya’s eyes sunken with exhaustion, brow drawn in silent distress, sweat dripping from his forehead. Before, he’d gotten up and simply left; he didn’t want to see the other when he awoke, and especially didn't want to deal with the morning after. However, this morning, he’s relaxed.

Ilya’s eyes are no longer so sunken and bruised with ire. His face is relaxed as he sleeps, with parted lips, and one of his arms is wrapped around Asra’s waist. The other was cradling his cheek before Ilya fell asleep, and now it lays awkwardly, brushing against Asra’s curls. He’s dead asleep.

Asra loves to  _ look _ . He loves to take Ilya’s face into his soft hands and admire his complexion, his pink lips, his dashing jaw. He’d like to look into Ilya’s silver eyes, but they’re closed, and he’s forced to wait. It’s unfortunate, but he won’t disturb Ilya’s peaceful sleeping. The poor man needs it. He tucks back Ilya’s bangs.

He’s beautiful. And Asra doesn't say so lightly; wouldn’t call somebody gorgeous unless they took his breath away as he looked at them. Ilya hates his nose, but when Ilya looks at him as a silhouette, his nose being  _ ugly _ or  _ weird _ is the very furthest thing from his mind. Ilya acts like he knows he’s handsome, but in reality he’s always rejected it. Asra thinks he’s the most wondrous thing he’s ever seen.

He thinks of how Ilya will look at him; the mischievous, teasing scrutiny; the needy, pleading look; the hungry, pinning stare; the soft, loving gaze. All of them turn his insides to mush. He wants to gag he loves Ilya so much.

Asra surveys the other again, kisses his temple, and slips out of bed. He’s in nothing but boxers, so he dresses in a plain shirt and trousers lazily and throws a shawl over his shoulders. He tucks his fingers against Ilya’s temple and whispers a spell to make sure he won’t wake within the hour before heading out.

The little magician exchanges some spices for fresh fruit, and a gold coin for a fresh brown honey loaf from the baker. He looks around the market briefly and buys some peach preservatives, stows it all in his satchel, and hurries off. He has a stock of eggs from Muriel, and once he returns he lights the cooker and begins his morning routine. Today it’s eggs and peach preservatives on fresh bread and sliced orange and grapefruit. He was right on time; as he’s finishing cleaning off his knife, he hears a  _ thud _ and a grown.

Lightly, he removes his trousers and keeps his shirt open. The shawl does most of the work. Doesn’t wand Ilya to think he worked too hard.

Asra is setting utensils on the decorated china when Ilya comes down. The doctor thinks he doesn’t notice and tries to sneak up, but Asra turns at the last second with a smirk. Ilya stops and clicks his tongue, deftly ignoring the flush on his face.

“Good morning, babydoll.” He says it with a grin, stretching proper. “Did you really make breakfast? You’re just a treasure.” This time, he can’t pull away from Ilya as the other wraps one arm around his waist and pulls Asra against his side to kiss his forehead. The magician ignores his own blush, and Ilya laughs, something that makes his heart feel lighter.

Asra doesn’t make comment of how he went out into the marketplace for the food, but Ilya must know from the bread alone; he takes a bite and kisses Asra with sweetened lips, like he’s mocking the effort. Asra throws a slice of citrus at him and the sour fruit hits Ilya’s cheek. It earns him a playful glare, so he licks up the juice.

“Calm down. Don’t get hard. Should have worked that out alone.” He kicks his feet, chewing on the sweet bread as he speaks. Ilya shakes his head with pinked cheeks. He’s adorable.

As soon as they’re dome their food, he gets anchored right into his lover’s lap, and his fingers run delicate over Ilya’s collar with an innocent sort of touch. “Thank you.” The deep voice is against his ear, and he cups the back of Ilya’s neck.

“It’s nothing.”

“You’re a  _ liar _ . You’re so goddamned cute.” Ilya laughs and holds Asra’s hips. It makes him stiffen when the other’s thumbs brush against his hip bones. “Oh, dollface. I’ll make it up to you.”

Now it’s Asra’s turn to be flushed; and yes, he  _ desperately _ wants Ilya to make it up to him. Instead, he places a kiss upon the man’s nose and hops up out of his grip. “Then come on. I’ve got a shop to open”

Ilya’s laugh brings another rush to his heart. He hides his smile in his sleeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also wrote at 3 am  
> i guess i wanted some cute stuff so here y’all go


End file.
